


Just Deserts

by robocryptid



Series: Scalpel or Bullet 'verse [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dirty Talk, Facials, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Recall, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 19:43:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14654844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robocryptid/pseuds/robocryptid
Summary: The third and final installment in this Scion Hanzo-inspired PWP 'verse. Ten years after the events of "Scalpel or Bullet" and "Three Offers", Hanzo and McCree both answer the Recall and have to wrestle with some colorful memories. Angst and smut ensue.





	Just Deserts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bluandorange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluandorange/gifts).



> While you do not have to have read [Scalpel or Bullet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14251671) or [Three Offers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14292534) to follow this, it could provide some small background info. Or just more porn to consume.
> 
> Somehow a discussion with [bluandorange](https://bluandorange.tumblr.com) turned into me writing upwards of 5000 words of angsty, indulgent, weakly edited smut. Blame them. Or thank them! Who knows?!
> 
> You can also blame/thank [mataglap](https://mataglap.tumblr.com) for the second paragraph (don't blame them for anything else, it's not their fault) because they sent in [this ask that was too tasty to resist](https://robo-cryptid.tumblr.com/post/172719118207/and-when-hanzo-and-mccree-meet-again-eight-years).

Jesse’s not sure he’ll ever be able to explain to a single soul the precise blend of discomfort that comes from standing face to face with his good friend’s would-be murderer, who was also that same friend’s brother, who he was now required to work with, who, also? Jesse last saw in person ten years prior, just enough times to remember and not  _quite_ long enough ago to forget some of the finer details. There’s mostly anger, with some guilt and some shame, some need to protect Genji no matter what Genji says, and there’s the unsettling, untimely spike of lust that comes with the visceral sense memory of his own belt looped around his neck and a spectacular view of Hanamura’s skyline while this guy fucked him. There’s also… well, a lot more shame after that.

The only things that redeem the moment are that Genji seems none the wiser, Hanzo looks at least  _twice_ as uncomfortable as Jesse feels, and Jesse gets the chance to rub that in when he hooks his thumbs in his belt loops and tells him, “Pleasure to meet you, sir.” Hanzo’s face drains of color entirely, and Jesse winks.

Jesse’s also not sure how to explain how they get to be friends except, vaguely,  _time_ and the realization that Hanzo’s very obviously a different man than he was back then. Hanzo’s funny and he’s smart, and he is terrifyingly competent — which is one thing to know in a general sense and another thing to witness to its fullest extent — and he’s got a good sense of when quiet serves better than talking. And if his new look is closer to Jesse’s usual type than when he was clean-cut and shiny, or if Jesse sometimes admires just how thick his arms are, or if he occasionally revisits some of those memories, well. That can stay between Jesse and his hand.

Except.

Except it doesn’t exactly go away. It persists. And it isn’t just seeing what Hanzo looks like or remembering what his hands felt like or wondering if he still kisses the same. It is, inconveniently and  _increasingly_ , wondering if he’d smile at sunrise in bed the same way he does at sunset with a drink in his hand. It’s Jesse going out of his way to tailor a joke to Hanzo’s very specific style of humor, just a little darker and weirder and more biting than Jesse’s usual brand. It’s knowing how Hanzo takes his tea or coffee, and how to tell which one he’s in the mood for before Hanzo says it. It’s catching a glimpse, every now and then, of this little flash of heat in Hanzo’s eyes and squashing the roller-coaster giddiness that comes with it. It’s knowing instinctively whether a mission’s gonna make Hanzo want to disappear or if he’s gonna want drinks and some company.

This last mission was one of the latter. They’re drinking together out on the skybridge, and Jesse’s probably had a little too much and can’t stop  _thinking_ about it. It’s not like he’s never had an inconvenient crush. It’s not like he didn’t  _know_ Hanzo’s probably still walking around with the same memories Jesse is. But Hanzo’s not exactly any ordinary teammate, not with their history. If he were, Jesse could probably proposition him just fine, could fall into bed again easy, no guilt or burdens to stop him. Jesse almost misses the certainty of the old days, even if he doesn’t miss the things he used to be capable of. Most of the time, even now, Jesse would know what to do with someone who looks at him the way Hanzo does. But he can see the shadows under Hanzo’s eyes, the way his shoulders drop when he thinks nobody’s looking, and Jesse can’t decide if he should feel bad about the things he wants or if he should try asking, since Hanzo so clearly won’t.

He’s doing a pretty good job of at least keeping his shit together, or he thinks he is, but then Jesse makes Hanzo laugh one too many times. Jesse watches the way his eyes crinkle at the edges and the weight shakes off his shoulders for a moment, and Hanzo gives him one of those looks that says he’s thought about it too, and Jesse doesn’t let himself think any more at all. He just leans in and presses their mouths together, testing, far more tentative than he really wants. Hanzo goes still as a statue, a quick little gasp the only sign he’s still a person, and Jesse feels his stomach sink as it hits him that Hanzo’s not gonna kiss him back. 

He pulls back, and Hanzo’s got his eyes squeezed shut, lips pressed tight and jaw clenched, every part of his face shuttered off and shutting Jesse out. Jesse licks his lips, suddenly sure he’s done something wrong, and he imagines he can taste the barest hint of sake left over from Hanzo’s lips. “Sorry,” he says immediately. “I thought… Whiskey’s gone to my head.” Hanzo says nothing at all, but he opens his eyes, and there’s no way to tell what he’s thinking. He doesn’t look real happy about it though. “Let’s just forget this happened,” Jesse finds himself saying. 

“Yes, let’s,” Hanzo says sharply, and Jesse swallows hard.

Up to that point, Jesse was pretty damn sure Hanzo would at least like to be kissed, figured it was just nerves or some hang-up he could push past with a little liquid courage, but now he’s stuck wondering how the hell he misread him so badly. More to the point, he’s a little surprised by how much it stings. He figures it’s probably the same whiskey that made it seem like a good idea in the first place. “Right,” Jesse says, and he doesn’t know what comes next, but he can’t just  _sit here_ steeping in it any more. It’s probably the coward’s way out, but he leaves him there and figures he’ll deal with the fallout in the morning.

The next day’s long and a little awkward, but not as bad as he figures it could be. Jesse keeps himself occupied around the base, goes through all the usual steps and talks to everyone else just like normal. The only real difference is Hanzo’s conspicuous absence, but it’s easy enough to forget as long as Jesse’s got someone else to talk to.

It is less easy to forget alone in his room, but Jesse does pretty well right up until Hanzo shows up at his door, looking more than a little gloomy before Jesse lets him in. Hanzo’s eyes have the shadows again, but once he’s in Jesse’s room and the look on his face changes from morose to something much more confusing, now that Jesse knows that expression doesn’t mean  _kiss me_. Hanzo grabs him determinedly by the shirt collar and pulls Jesse close, presses his body closer, and if Hanzo’s gonna do anything but kiss him, Jesse thinks he’ll have to give up on trying to read people altogether. “I don’t want you like that,” Hanzo says, and there goes all Jesse’s faith in any of his instincts.

Their mouths are far too close together for any of this to make sense. “Not sure I follow,” Jesse admits, and for the first time since he was still fumbling through his teen years, he doesn’t have a damn clue what to do with his hands.

“I don’t want you like  _that_ ,” Hanzo repeats, and he jerks again at Jesse’s collar like that’s any kind of help. Jesse’s still trying his hardest to figure out what the hell this is when Hanzo drags him closer still, lips pressed so hard against his that Jesse can feel his teeth behind them. 

Jesse’s mouth catches up faster than his brain, and his hands are on Hanzo’s hips before he can stop himself. He’s torn between competing urges, but he finally pulls back enough to choke out a confused, “ _What_?” Hanzo follows, pawing and pulling at him as he does, gets his mouth back on Jesse’s like he’s trying to eat him alive, and it finally clicks for him: Hanzo’s not after the kind of kiss Jesse tried to give him on the bridge, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want Jesse at all.

So Jesse tries it, grabs him by the hair and gives as good as he’s been getting from Hanzo, gets him knocked back against the door, and it should probably hurt a little. Jesse tries to pull back to apologize, but Hanzo’s got a bruising grip on the back of his neck, got another hand clutched hard against Jesse’s ribs, and he doesn’t seem upset at all. He seems exactly the opposite of upset, even, as he curls a leg behind Jesse’s to drag him closer, like he doesn’t want any air between their bodies at all.

For a few delirious moments, Jesse goes right along with it, jams his thigh between Hanzo’s and rolls his hips against him, but those fingers in his neck are starting to hurt, cutting through the adrenaline and the growing haze of want. Jesse grabs his wrist and Hanzo lets go, just like that, lets Jesse press it to the door by his head, like he remembers too. Like he wants that again.

There’s no hand on his throat this time, nothing but Hanzo writhing against him, panting hot into his mouth between his bruising kisses. Jesse snatches at his other wrist, pushes that against the door too, and Hanzo makes a low sound right into his mouth, makes it again when Jesse shoves his wrists up and together, gets them both pinned in his metal grip. Hanzo tries to follow again as Jesse pulls back, but he can’t get so far pinned up like he is, and Jesse laughs a little. “This what you were after?” he asks against Hanzo’s neck, nudging Hanzo’s thighs apart to get his whole body between them. 

“Clearly,” Hanzo says, and his grouchy tone’s so at odds with the way his body arches against Jesse that it’s almost funny. 

Jesse laughs again, just a huff in his ear, and Hanzo’s head falls to the side like he can’t quite help but put himself on display. It’s an invitation Jesse’s tempted to take, and he licks a quick stripe up the side of Hanzo’s neck, noses behind his ear as he tells him, “Woulda saved us both a little time if you’d just said that before.” It would’ve saved Jesse a little pain too, but he leaves that one alone for now.

Hanzo doesn’t say anything either, just pants near his ear while Jesse breathes him in, scrapes his teeth down the side of Hanzo’s neck, grinds his hips hard into him. Hanzo presses against him, wrists straining against his grip like he’s testing its limits. His efforts stall at the press of Jesse’s teeth, and when Jesse slides a hand down the back of his pants, Hanzo’s head thumps back against the door.

He drags his hand down for a hard handful of Hanzo’s bare ass then slides his fingers down the crease, and the way Hanzo’s back bows with the shift of his hips is the kind of thing that might drive a more artistic man to poetry. As it is, Jesse lets out a sound that’s half groan, half laugh, right against Hanzo’s neck, and he feels him shudder.

It’s good, it’s got Jesse’s head spinning and heat pooling in his belly, and it’s all building faster. Too fast, he thinks, after everything; he’s not sure what he wants from this is to come in his pants in a matter of minutes. So he reaches deep for the willpower to slow the rocking of his hips, to turn his sucking and biting at Hanzo’s neck to lazy wet kisses instead. 

“What are you doing?” Hanzo snaps at him.

Jesse laughs again. “Givin’ you more than a quick dry-hump against a door,” he says, and Hanzo gives another small shudder. Jesse’s been told half his life now that folks like his voice, and Hanzo seems no different. “Wanna get you laid out on my bed, maybe fuck your mouth a little before we find out how flexible you are,” he purrs, and Hanzo almost laughs, but he keeps shivering like it’s absolutely having the intended effect. “Sound good to you,  _sir_?” 

Hanzo says nothing, so Jesse slides his hand down to circle a fingertip roughly over his rim, and Hanzo writhes against him, makes a funny strangled sound like he’s trying to hold it back and failing. “I know you’re chompin’ at the bit, baby.” Jesse drops his voice even lower as he ducks his head around to the other side of Hanzo’s neck, where he hasn’t even tasted yet. “But I’m thinkin’ I don’t wanna let you go so fast. Bet you’d love the things I can do with my tongue.” He punctuates it with a quick curl of his tongue just under Hanzo’s ear. “You got a few hours to spare, darlin’?”

“You’re disgusting,” Hanzo grits out, voice rasping over Jesse’s nerves. 

Jesse laughs at that. “Been told that a time or two.” He’s still circling the pad of his finger, pressing  _in_ just a little in case Hanzo tries to forget it. “Don’t have to do it all my way. Tell me what you like, anything you want. I can be so good to you.” He’s babbling a little, he knows, because he can still feel Hanzo hard against him, and he’s getting a delicious pressure with every roll of their hips together, and he’s gonna have to slow himself down again soon if he’s gonna make good on any of the things he’s said. “Just wanna treat you right, sweetheart,” he purrs.

And Hanzo freezes, immediately and completely, for long enough that Jesse freezes too. “Stop,” Hanzo says, and he wrenches one of his hands free. Jesse’s a little slower about it; it takes a second for his brain to catch up, but once it does, he starts carefully prying his hands off him and puts a few inches between them. 

“I do somethin’ wrong?” Jesse asks, watching Hanzo rub at his wrists.

“That is not what this is,” Hanzo says in that rude tone he gets sometimes, and Jesse’s stomach bottoms out again. 

Jesse gets caught somewhere between that sick, falling feeling and outright annoyance, and he feels his jaw clench and breath come out hard through his nose. He’s still close enough that he sees Hanzo visibly react, watches his lips part and his eyes get heavy, and that’s somehow _at least_ as frustrating as it is hot. “Then what is it?” he snaps.

“You are angry with me,” Hanzo says, and it’s such a useless response Jesse almost laughs.

“Yeah, might be gettin’ there.”

“Good.” Hanzo fists a hand in his shirt again, pulls him close again, and Jesse’s pulse spikes with a heady cocktail: anger, adrenaline, desire and confusion, maybe a dozen more ingredients he can’t identify. Hanzo tips his head up close to Jesse’s, lip curling into something that’s not really a smile at all, but there’s nothing else to call it. “Do something about it.”

Something stutters in Jesse’s brain, and he’s caught again, somewhere between the need to take him up on it and the growing urge to kick him out of the room entirely. They hang there for a moment, Hanzo’s mouth only inches from his, and Jesse’s brain catches back up, floods this time with more recent memories of Hanzo at practices, on missions, in the rec room. He thinks about the things Hanzo’s admitted when they’re drinking, about the things he’s only hinted at or left for Jesse to fill in the blanks, and suddenly a lot of this makes a whole lot more sense.

“Jesus,” Jesse breathes. “I’m not gonna  _hurt_ you.”

Hanzo’s fingers go lax in his shirt, and Jesse figures he was right about that one from the way Hanzo’s jaw sets. He sneers a little, not quite looking at Jesse. “Where’s your sense of justice, cowboy?”

Jesse laughs at that, in surprise more than anything else. “Justice? The hell does justice have to do with what we’re doin’ here?”

“You were  _nothing_  to me. A toy, to be used and discarded at will.”

Jesse startles a little at that; it didn’t occur to him Hanzo’s hang-ups about his past might include this too. “Pretty sure it was mutual usin’, hon— Hanzo.” Jesse knows he makes a face at that slip, but if Hanzo catches it, he’s too preoccupied with everything else to bother calling him on it. “You talk like I didn’t come back for more.”

Hanzo swallows and doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I was not a good man,” he insists, almost angry about it. Then Hanzo lays it out in stilted, frustrated words, like Jesse’s a little slow and not catching on, and maybe Jesse didn’t fully realize just how much of a complicated mess Hanzo’s head really is, because only about half of it makes any sense to him at all. What he  _does_ get out of it is that Hanzo thinks he deserves it this way somehow, and not any  _other_ kind of way, and he thinks Jesse’s the kinda man who wants to push him around. And he’s not  _entirely_ wrong, but it was a little different when Hanzo on his knees felt like the prize in a game they were both keen on playing. It’s another thing entirely when Hanzo frames it as  _justice_  or when Jesse thinks of it, secretly, as some kinda punishment.

Jesse wonders exactly what kinda man Hanzo thinks he is. He wonders if he should be a little offended by it, or if it just means Hanzo trusts him, even if it’s obviously not quite enough to come right out and say it. He wonders a lot of things, but he’s shamefully certain that as long as Hanzo’s asking, now that he’s got him  _this close_ , Jesse’s going to do whatever Hanzo wants if it’ll keep him there. Hanzo’s claim that Jesse is a better man than he is seems almost laughable in the face of it.

Jesse squares his shoulders and does his best. “You want me to  _use_  you? Fine. But that means we do it my way. You really want me in charge, you’re gonna let  _me_ decide what you  _deserve_.” Hanzo’s eyes burn right through him, and Jesse doesn’t know how he’s supposed to be the one in charge here, or whatever the hell it is Hanzo wants, if Hanzo’s gonna keep looking at him like that. But his cheeks darken and he nods at Jesse, barely perceptible, and Jesse watches him swallow hard like the words just aren’t gonna come out. “Good,” he says, and he watches Hanzo’s back stiffen. 

It takes more patience than Jesse thought he had in him, but he at least extracts a promise from Hanzo that he’ll tell Jesse if it’s too much, that he can answer  _yes or no_ questions. Jesse might not be planning on pushing too many buttons, but the least he can do is make sure Hanzo’s not gonna keep trying to bulldoze past all common sense.

After that Jesse hesitates, and he lands harder than he means to in the chair at his desk. Hanzo just watches, clearly waiting. “Take your clothes off,” Jesse tells him, and Hanzo doesn’t balk, doesn’t question it, just does exactly as he’s told, peels out of his shirt and sleep pants and underwear nice and slow for Jesse to watch. 

“C’mere,” Jesse says, already starting on his belt, and Hanzo’s already moving toward him, sinking to his knees like he knows what Jesse’s gonna ask next, and it strikes him as  _weird_ again that Hanzo’s just handing over all the decisions to him. He wants to think it over more, think about what any of it means, but his dick’s taking up too much attention now with Hanzo right there. 

“You’re gonna suck me off, then I’ll figure out what else to do with you,” Jesse says as he frees it, and Hanzo curls a hand around the base of it. “Did I tell you to use your hands?” he growls, and Hanzo starts at that, stares at him a moment with the color climbing in his cheeks again. He looks a little mad, but he takes his hand away again, rests them both on Jesse’s thighs, heat leaching from his palms through the denim. “It’s what you asked for, ain’t it? You wanna stop already?” Hanzo glares a little, but he gives a barely there shake of his head. “Sorry, darlin’, couldn’t hear you,” he says with a forced smirk.

“No,” Hanzo says through his teeth, and he’s still glaring, but his whole face is red.

“That’s better,” he says, and he watches the way Hanzo’s chest hitches with his breathing again. Jesse traces his thumb over Hanzo’s cheekbone, feels how hot the skin is to the touch. Hanzo’s eyes fall shut, brow furrowed, and Jesse can feel the way his jaw tenses. He wonders if Hanzo’s got that caught feeling too, stuck between clashing wants. 

“Don’t worry, baby, I won’t make you talk too much. Gonna have your mouth full in a second anyway.” Hanzo’s lip twitches at that, like he wants to smirk or laugh but like it gets stopped short somewhere on the way. Jesse soldiers on anyway. “Keep your hands still. You don’t like somethin’, you tap out.” Hanzo does smirk then, lets out a little huff through his nose that reminds Jesse he’s probably never backed down from anything in his life. Still, Jesse wants to be sure. “You got that?”

“Yes,” Hanzo says impatiently, and it makes Jesse laugh a little, still more than a little stunned that this is how Hanzo wants it.

“Shoulda made you call me sir,” Jesse mutters, curling his fingers around the back of Hanzo’s head to pull him closer.

Hanzo doesn’t bother taking his time after that, doesn’t bother letting Jesse guide him either, just parts his lips and takes him in to the sound of Jesse’s low, strangled groan. Not like it’s spectacularwithout the use of his hands, but the slide of his mouth is still hot and wet and about the best goddamned thing Jesse’s felt in  _months_ at least. After the buildup and letdown from before, it seems like it’s all moving too fast again, and Jesse has to clutch hard at the arm of the chair to keep from grabbing Hanzo with the metal hand and potentially crushing something. He hears the chair arm creak, and he makes the mistake of looking at Hanzo, catching sight of the white in his knuckles as he grips hard at Jesse’s thighs, fingertips digging bruises in through the fabric. He sees the way Hanzo’s lips drag over his dick, and he pets his fingers into the short bristles of Hanzo’s hair, thumb resting at the hinge of his jaw.

“Goddamn,” Jesse hears himself say, “just like that.” Hanzo’s eyes squeeze shut, the color rising in his face, and Jesse remembers through the haze the way Hanzo’d shuddered and writhed for his voice. “Look at you,” he says, “bein’ so good to me.” Jesse lets out a delirious laugh, feels heat and tension pooling fast and tight in his gut. “Mighty generous for one of the bad guys.” He bites down on the inside of his cheek, struck with the bizarre contradiction of being so turned on he might explode and thinking he has just said something irreparable. But Hanzo makes this strange, surprised little sound, and his mouth keeps right on going, sloppier and taking him deeper than before.

Jesse just lets go after that, fucking babbles at him and isn’t sure of half of what he’s saying, but Hanzo’s cheeks get redder and redder, and he lets out these choked, quiet little moans like he can’t keep them in. Jesse still doesn’t know how Hanzo thinks this means Jesse’s the one in charge, because every one of those sounds pulls Jesse closer and closer to the edge like Hanzo’s mouth is some kind of leash on him. Jesse feels the moment he starts to unravel, and he applies his last ounce of control to jerk Hanzo’s head back and off him, paints his face in his come and leaves them both gasping with it. 

Jesse curls forward as it happens, keeps his hand clasped tight in Hanzo’s hair, then he slumps back again, stares at the ceiling for a moment as he tries to put himself back together. When he looks back at Hanzo, he’s hit with a wave of something his body’s not quite ready to respond to yet. He was expecting Hanzo to be a little pissed maybe, or at least annoyed with him, but Hanzo instead looks  _overwhelmed_ , pupils swallowing up all the color in his eyes, face red and lips wet and swollen.

Jesse’s mess is striped over his chin and cheekbone, in his beard. There’s a streak across his nose, and Jesse swipes his thumb over it and without thinking, presses it to Hanzo’s mouth. Hanzo turns into it, wraps his lips around Jesse’s thumb and sucks gently, eyes sliding shut and wet lashes trembling like he’s enjoying some rare delicacy. A slow, aimless kind of arousal swirls in his gut and it’s all Jesse can do to keep from sliding to his own knees. It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask Hanzo what he wants, or offer him anything at all, when he remembers that isn’t what he’s supposed to be doing.

Instead, he rubs his thumb hard over Hanzo’s swollen lip, drags another swipe of his come into Hanzo’s mouth and just watches Hanzo’s tongue curl and clean it away. “And you called me filthy,” Jesse says with a grin. Hanzo’s eyes narrow a little, but he doesn’t say anything. Jesse kinda misses his smartass mouth. “You still good?”

Jesse thinks for a second that Hanzo might roll his eyes at him, but instead his lips fall open and he only says, “Yes.”

Jesse doesn’t really have it in him to leave him like that, even if Hanzo doesn’t seem bothered. He doesn’t have anything close at hand, so he uses his own shirt, starts wiping at Hanzo’s face with the end of it while it’s still on before he figures out he can take it off, because maybe his synapses still aren’t firing at full capacity right now. Hanzo doesn’t do much of anything though, just closes his eyes and lets Jesse clean him up. Jesse kinda wants to coo at him over it, and he clenches his jaw against the urge, just tells Hanzo to get on the damn bed as soon as he's passably clean.

Hanzo arranges himself on the mattress, on elbows and knees just like Jesse tells him to. He clenches his hands in the sheets, and Jesse thinks for a second about how very ill-prepared his room is for anything more than this. He’s pulling his pants off while he says, “You got all that self-discipline, right? I’m sure you can keep your hands right there.”

He’s beside him soon enough, and Hanzo shudders as Jesse runs a hand between his shoulder blades, but he drops his head and clenches his hands determinedly in the sheets. It makes Jesse’s breath catch; so does the sight of Hanzo’s back and shoulders, powerful muscles pulled taut with anticipation. They always rushed before, and Hanzo wasn’t built quite the same either, had spent a little more time on working out to satisfy his vanity and a little less time punishing himself with hours at the range, well past the time everybody else finished for the day. Jesse takes the time to admire with his hands too, to feel the way those muscles twitch and flex under his touch, Hanzo arching at the press of his hands.

“You’re bein’ so good for me. Haven’t even  _tried_ to touch yourself,” Jesse purrs, petting both hands down the backs of Hanzo’s thighs. At the quiet, pleased sound Hanzo makes, he digs his hands in a little harder, thumbs dragging over tight muscles, up toward the swell of his ass. He snaps open the lube, coats his fingers and starts to press one in. Hanzo relaxes into it, sighs and pushes back. Jesse pushes Hanzo’s knees wider with his own and drapes himself over Hanzo’s body, clutches at one of his hands and presses his lips to the back of Hanzo’s neck.

“Can’t say I hate havin’ you like this,” Jesse purrs into his ear as he curls his fingers into Hanzo’s body, “but I miss havin’ to earn it.” Hanzo goes a little stiff at that, right before Jesse’s fingers twist and push and he shudders all over. “Too much?” Hanzo doesn’t say anything, but the back of his neck flushes and he shakes his head  _no_. “Good,” Jesse sighs. “I know you said this was about me  _usin’_  you, but all I can think is how generous you been, how much you’ve given so far.” He curls his fingers again, and Hanzo drops his forehead down to the sheets, back bowing with a quiet half-sob. Jesse mouths at his jaw, at his ear, at his shoulder, anywhere he can reach with Hanzo trembling and pushing back like he is. “You wouldn’t’ve been generous back then,” he says, and Hanzo shivers again. “You wouldn’t have been  _good_ to me like this.” He can feel from the bunch of Hanzo’s muscles, hear in his shuddering gasps, just how close he’s getting.

“Touch yourself,” he says, and Hanzo lets out a choked out moan of relief as he does just that, his other hand clenching around Jesse’s, fingers spasming. Jesse keeps going, tells Hanzo just how much he appreciates how very different he is now, even if he holds back on some of the deeper feelings, and Hanzo makes a low keening sound and works himself between Jesse’s hand and his own until his whole body goes tense, muscles twitching as his orgasm rocks over him.

Jesse pulls at him before he can collapse, draws him closer and away from the mess and gets his arms around him. He pets his hands aimlessly over Hanzo’s skin, over his arms and chest until he gets Hanzo to roll to face him, then again over his back. Jesse doesn’t say anything about the wetness or redness around Hanzo’s eyes, doesn’t say anything at all, just tucks Hanzo’s face into his neck and keeps his hands soothing.

Eventually, Hanzo’s breathing is normal, maybe even relaxed, and Jesse says, “I know that’s not exactly what you said but—”

“It’s fine,” Hanzo mutters against his neck.

Jesse dares to laugh a little. “‘Fine’ like it’s actually fine, or ‘fine’ like you’re pissed at me and don’t know—”

“Actually fine,” Hanzo says, and it’s muffled but he sounds exasperated; if Jesse’s lucky, he might even sound a little fond.

“Okay.” Jesse swallows. This was weirdly easier during whatever the hell the sex was; he doesn’t know how to talk about it  _now_. He thinks maybe it’s even poor etiquette not to let Hanzo get dressed first, give him the option to leave as fast as possible if things go south, but Jesse can only handle so much. He braces himself and brushes his lips over Hanzo’s temple now just in case he doesn’t get another chance. “Maybe it wasn’t what you asked for, but I’d be willin’ to put in the effort again sometime.” Hanzo was already pretty still, but his muscles all tense up like he’s trying to recede into himself. “Or revisit some of those old memories. You did bad things back then, but what we did… that wasn’t part of it. Or it doesn’t have to be.” Jesse clears his throat again, gives it a beat in case Hanzo’s gonna bother to grace him with any kind of answer. He doesn’t though, and Jesse presses on. “Or we could do this some other way. Without all that stuff. Just you and me, maybe after dinner and drinks, and—”

He cuts himself off, because Hanzo shifts to look hard at him. “Are you asking me on a  _date_? Right now?”

“Looks like it,” Jesse admits with a laugh, but Hanzo’s mouth is still… well, it’s not a smile, and that’s a little disconcerting, but Jesse figures he should finish what he started. “I’m just sayin’ you don’t have to choose one or the other. I’m more than willin’ to do all of the above” — Jesse’s mouth goes a little dry — “long as it’s with you.”

Hanzo’s eyes are on his face for a long, long time, long enough that Jesse starts to feel more than a little stupid. But then Hanzo’s hand is on his face too, pulling Jesse’s mouth to meet his as it curves into a tiny, hesitant smile, and it’s answer enough for Jesse.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! Back to writing things that aren't endless buckets of smut. Or at least back to writing smut in _some other_ 'verse. Scion Hanzo, you have ruined my life.
> 
> If you're interested in being a giant Overwatch/McHanzo dork, getting bombarded with spam, and occasionally even getting to read fanfiction and drabbles, you can catch me on Tumblr @ [robo-cryptid](https://robo-cryptid.tumblr.com).


End file.
